


Where's the catch?

by auriadne



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluff, Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Third Semester, back at it again writing akeshu, patching up wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auriadne/pseuds/auriadne
Summary: What if your bro tenderly bandaged your wounds but that bro was Akechi, and there’s nothing tender about it.…A mending injuries, third semester ficlet.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 392





	Where's the catch?

**Author's Note:**

> Quick ficlet to distract me from contemplating P5R bad end akeshu.  
> As usual, [ Song/Title ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ug_5d1HD9FA)

“Tch.”

Akechi’s tongue clicks against his teeth, carefully balanced over Akira. The walls of Leblanc’s sole bathroom are cramped. Barely enough room for a person and a mop, nonetheless two high schoolers. Akechi reaches over him, toed above his height to rummage through the decades old medicine cabinet.

They should have stopped by G Mart on the way back, if it hadn’t been closer to morning than night and if Akira hadn’t looked like he came straight from a horror themed café. The blood on his hands is long since dry, starting to fleck away when he absently picks at it. Gross.

He tilts his head back. The dull throb makes him wince, glancing to the other who is paying him no mind. Akira’s entire body aches, muscles sore, skin bruised and burnt. His bones practically groaned the entire way back, Akechi having to pick up the slack for his own sorry state. A penance for his own hardheadedness- or stupidity depending on who you asked.

It’s the kind of pain Akira has grown accustomed to over the past year. The Phantom Thieves- its tough work. Tougher still, when he’s out fighting demons on his own. The team needs a break, its not hard to see. This new, ‘perfect’ reality taxing on their motivations and mentality. Well, on all but one of them. The one that thrives on discord.

Akechi’s weight digs into his shoulder, hand clawing deep into his sleeve to reach high. Akira rolls his neck. He thinks he needs a break. A vacation, hell, he’d just take a few days without this constant pressure. Not that he could let that happen. Even with the daggers Akechi shot him, when he stumbled across him overworked, exhausted, and injured.

Luck? He might believe it, if it had been anyone but Akechi that found him.

Akira jumps at the loud sound of glass hitting porcelain when Akechi unceremoniously dumps several bottles into the sink. He bends down knocking into Akira’s knees to reach the lower drawers.

“How do you live like this? It’s a mess. Half of this shit is expired.”

“Dunno. I usually go to Takemi if I’m beat up pretty bad.” She’s out of town though, seems his luck only stretches so far.

“You shouldn’t rely on others so much. What will you do when I’m not here? Fall over and die? How pitiful, Joker.” It’s funny. No matter how cutting, it’s things like that, which make Akira realize Akechi actually does care. In his own way.

Akechi’s nose scrunches looking over a cloudy bottle, the text old and faded. Expired, definitely. Ancient, probably. Akira shrugs. It’s better than nothing. At this point, he’s not picky.

“Have some self-preservation.” Akechi criticizes. The liquid he dabs onto a cotton pad smells strong of aged alcohol. Akira pulls his glasses off, resting them against his thigh. It bounces impatiently, as Akechi pushes up his bangs matted with blood.

He recoils instantly from the sting with a hiss.

“Stay still.” Akechi says, sharply. “Can’t have you dying on me. Not when you’re the only competent one other than myself.”

“Dying is a bit extreme, don’t you think? It’s just a few cuts.”

“You’re not invincible.” Akechi sighs. “Infection. Illness. Anything of the sort. If you’re out of commission, our lives and autonomy are essentially forfeit.”

He dabs at the wound again, fingers twisting in curly hair. “Don’t mistake me, I would if the situation arose, take on Maruki alone. But I am not an idiot. I see the value in our… partnership.”

Partnership, huh? Akechi really has a way with words.

Surely, he sees it. Far too sharp to miss something so clear, even if its from his self. How long has it been? All that time Akechi convincing himself that what he felt was hate. Maybe it was. Two sides of the same coin, but it’s Akechi that followed him, dragged him back to Leblanc. Shot him once, and saved him in turn. Akechi may be right. Akira’s never had a good sense of self-preservation.

The hand in his hair tugs a little too harshly. It draws Akira from his thoughts. His eyes shoot to Akechi, a frown forming on his lips.

“Not so rough.” Akira complains.

He snorts. “If you cared at all about pain, you wouldn’t be throwing yourself against the demons alone. Try being less reckless, if you want me to actually believe that.”

“You’re one to talk.”

His teeth flash, one of those dangerous smirks Akira is so fond of. “It’s benefiting you, is it not? Having me go all out?”

He prefers it that way. The Akechi that is done with playing sugar-coated pretend. Though he might take a bit more restraint now. He’s treading into the Takemi territory of dangerous medicine.

Akechi rolls his eyes and tosses the cotton pads soaked through with stale blood. He leans back against the wall. His gaze careful and measured over him, sizing him up. “I’ve seen you deal with worse.” 

“It’s different with adrenaline.”

“Most things are.” Akechi leans closer, trained solely on Akira’s injuries.

It’s purely professional, of course, but it doesn’t stop the subtle hitch in his breath. His tongue presses back against his teeth, the urge to comment on it, to get some rise out of Akechi barely swallowed down. Akira blinks first, raising his glasses back to his face.

“ _Stop moving.”_ Akechi insists again, teeth already tearing through a packet of fresh gauze.

Akira’s shoulders go stiff, in exaggerated compliance. “You know,” He starts, when Akechi applies the bandage. “You’re never bothered.”

“What?”

“When we fight. No matter how bad it gets. Or how close to-“ _Death_. Akira thinks to say but keeps it to himself. Sore subject.

“You’ve noticed?”Akechi pauses thoughtfully and takes another bottle from the pile. Peroxide, this time. Akechi grabs his wrist and shoves up the sleeve past the stain of red. A long cut juts up his forearm.

“Of course, you have.” He mutters. The peroxide he pours bubbles in a strange sensation from his wound. It foams over the torn skin. Akechi holds his arm still, even when he tries to move it. “Leave it.” He says- no, orders. How many of those has he given him in the past hour? Akira can let it slide tonight.

“Even when we’re down to the wire. You don’t let your injuries affect you. I know the magic helps, but it never truly gets rid of the pain-“

“It’s psychological.” Akechi answers quickly. He’s a little surprised that he answered at all. “I tune it out. I’ve grown accustomed to focusing only on the task at hand. Everything else is useless to me.”

“So, I’m beating out your pain receptors in usefulness. I’ll take that as a compliment, Goro.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Sometimes, he’s too easy.

“What are we not there yet? You’ve shot me in the face, stabbed me in the back, asked me out on multiple occasions. Did our dates mean nothing to you?”

“Dates?” Ah, there it is. Akira grins as Akechi teeters into the incredulous and exasperated.

“The jazz club.” Akira reminds. “The cafes, the aquarium,” All strictly platonic, of course. _Obviously_. But who is he kidding, if Akechi ever implied otherwise, he’d believe him in a heartbeat. Especially now.

“Those weren’t-“ Akechi’s nose scrunches up, his mouth pursed in a frown. Oh god, is he _pouting_? How petty.

Akira leans his head against his palm. “Wouldn’t it be nice if they were?” Akechi’s previous expression is wiped clean, and he scrutinizes him, suspicious and calculating. Akira meets him full force. “What?” He asks, hardly coy.

“Quit distracting me.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was that much of a distraction to you.” Akira says. It’s heavy handed, but he thinks it’s what’s needed with Akechi. Purposely ticking him off and ticking down the eventual time bomb.

“Don’t screw around, or I’ll leave and you can get the cat to fix you up.

“I doubt Mona has that kind of dexterity.” He comments offhanded. Plus, he’s grown rather attached to having Akechi’s hands on him, pushing him around, mending his wounds, telling him he’s an ‘ _Absolute moron with a death wish’._ He thinks those are the precise words Akechi used. Akira’s lips quirk with a haphazard shrug that only hurts a little bit. “Fine, fine. Have it your way. _I’ll be a good boy.”_

Akechi seethes through his teeth.

“ _Temper_.” He prods.

“You’re insufferable. You know that?”

“It’s one of my charm points.”

Akechi laughs. Or something close to it, in a strained sounding breath blown between gritted teeth.

“You’re right about that.”

“Aren’t you going to finish bandaging me up?”

“This is a trap, isn’t it? You’re enjoying it far too much. Almost makes me second guess your motivations.”

“Would you feel better if I said no? I know how you hate to lose.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Akechi mutters, and there’s something painstakingly earnest about it despite the conversation’s tone.

Akira heaves himself up, legs trembling unsteady underneath him. He reaches behind Akechi. This time it’s his turn to freeze up.

“I’m not-“

Akira’s fingers wrap around a roll of bandages carelessly tossed in the sink. The knit in Akechi’s brow deepens. He’s going to get wrinkles at this rate.

“Wha-“

Akira stumbles, catches himself on Akechi’s arm and laughs. He dares a glance up, too close. He realizes too late when his mouth ghosts Akechi’s. It’s brief, barely a brush. If it was anyone other than the so-called Detective Prince, he could call it an accident.

Akechi jerks back reflexively. He hits the wall with a painful sound. The mop and broom clatter.

“Shit.” He curses and glares at him, irritated. Perhaps even scandalized, too clever to believe this romance manga ploy and more inclined to believe it a plot against him. He wouldn’t be completely wrong with that assumption. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Kurusu.”

He thought they were past that forced distance thing. Akira wants to roll his eyes.

“You were taking too long.”

Too long to patch him up, or too long to make a move? It seems Akechi comes to the correct conclusion with a subtle flash of color across his face and a deep set groan as his gloved hand pushes up against his forehead.

“ _Insufferable_. You are such a headache sometimes.”

“You’d be terribly bored if I wasn’t.”

Akechi almost grins, but it’s hidden quickly when he opens the door. The faint hum of the 24-hour news cycle echoes through the empty coffee shop.

“Disinfectants are one thing, but I’m not giving you decades old pills.” He checks his watch. A gift Akira gave to him the third time they met up in Kichijoji. “Surely, one of the conbini’s around here is open at this hour.”

“You would have to go to the next neighborhood. I’ll be fine.” Akira insists, but the slight grimace in his voice is not at all convincing.

“Oh, shut up. If you’re worried about _inconveniencing_ me, we are far past that. Let me save your ass this time.” Akechi scoffs. He looks down, conflict borne across his face. “I think I owe you as much.”


End file.
